


The World is Full Enough of Hurt

by qaffangyrl



Series: That Such Men Lived [4]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feminist!Bucky Barnes, Gay Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Suicidal Thoughts, Timeline Hopping, Top Bucky Barnes, canon compliant if you believe Stucky is for real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaffangyrl/pseuds/qaffangyrl
Summary: The story of all the times Steve wanted to tell Bucky he loved him and the one time he actually did....Steve’s had so many chances to say the words to Bucky, but he never did. Now, that he has yet another chance, he might have to say I love you to a ghost with no memory of all they’ve been through.  He can’t let that happen. He won’t.





	1. CH 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to A Soul Submerged in Sleep told from Steve's  
> point of view. However, any of the fics in the That Such Men Lived series can be read in any order. 
> 
> Comments are love and they feed my muses! Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Note: Title comes from the following quote:  
> “The world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them.”  
> ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

**June 2016. Safe House 616, Northeastern Hemisphere, Undisclosed Location**

Steve steps out of the shower and wipes the steam off of the bathroom mirror. He takes a breath and lets himself appreciate the warm humid air that surrounds him before sending up a silent thanks that Natasha had managed to procure a base of operation that has plenty of hot, running water. It makes everything else just a little more bearable.

Today is a slow day for the team—what’s left of them. Lang and Barton had said their goodbyes after the United Nations released a global public statement offering The Sokovia Fugitives leniency if they willingly turned themselves in. Steve cant’t blame them. They have families. He gets it. Family comes first. He just wishes they weren’t taking a hit for helping him. Because that’s what this was.

The airport battle, when it really comes down to it, happened because Steve had put Bucky before everyone and everything else. Sure, Steve had made the call to go after Zemo— but would he have if Zemo was just a run of the mill terrorist, one who hadn’t framed and triggered Bucky? The question exhausts Steve so he forgoes a morning shave, opting simply to dress and brush his teeth before heading out to the common room.

The place is spacious. A large living area with attached kitchen along with two bedrooms. Nat and Wanda bunking together in one, Steve and Sam sharing the other room. They each have military grade cots, blankets and even small pillows. A far cry from the Avengers Compound for sure, but Steve can’t complain. They’re together and all reasonably safe. That’s what’s important. As for the others— the ones who had signed— well Steve had reached out to Tony to let him know that all he needed to do was call and Steve would be there. No questions asked. But, his rift with Tony isn’t what's weighing on him most.

Sam smiles and offers a cup of coffee to Steve when he walks in the room, “I know the caffeine doesn’t do much for you. But creature comforts are important, ‘ya know?”

Steve’s takes the cup and blows on the hot liquid then takes a sip, “Strong and black,” he says approvingly.

“Just like me,” Sam replies in his typical good-natured manner.

“You should put that on a T-shirt.” Steve adds with a chuckle.

All smiles, Sam says, “You’ve had worse ideas.” His words hang in the air.

Steve knows Sam didn’t mean anything by the jab, but it still smarts. An awkward silence starts to stretch in out the room until Sam makes a conciliatory gesture and says, “Hey man, I didn’t mean—”

“We’re good, Sam. It’s fine,” Steve assures, “After all, it wasn’t your sense of humor that got you the job as my wingman.”

Sam just shakes his head in return. After a beat he asks, “any word on Barnes?”

“He’s holding steady in stasis. Shuri and her team are working on a treatment plan, but it’s a real longshot unless Nat’s contact comes through with that intel,” Steve answers. A morose tone threading through his words.

“First off, if anybody can come through it’s Red. Second of all, can we just stop for a second and revel in the fact that you’ve made friends with an actual true life princess? I mean come on! That’s kind of amazing, even for you, Captain Abs.”

Steve laughs. “I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. Acquaintances maybe? Colleagues?”

“Any chance you and she… since you and Sharon are on the outs?”

“Shuri’s kinda young, Sam.” Steve replies with a grimace, “And for the record, Sharon and I aren’t on the outs. It’s just bad timing, is all. The CIA went easy on her for helping us and I don’t want to compromise her situation by keeping a comm open. I’ve put enough people at risk.” His mood is souring and it's not even 0800. The closest friends he’d made since he came out of the ice are either criminals because of him or just flat out not speaking to him. And then there's Bucky. He’s been back under for a little more than a month. And while Shuri has assured Steve that she would be able deprogram Bucky there is a very real chance that the damage in his mind might be too great— that in order to wipe out the trigger words— Bucky’s memory might get wiped away too. A cold reboot, Shuri had called it. Steve is, in a word, terrified. But he can’t say that to Sam or the gals, because if he were to really tell the truth about how he feels, he’d give himself away. How in the hell can he tell them? Not when he’s never told Bucky. And what happens if Shuri’s plan goes sideways? Steve’s had so many chances to say the words, but he never did. Now, that he has yet another chance, he might have to say _I love you_ to a ghost with no memory of all they’ve been through.  He can’t let that happen. He won’t.


	2. CH 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Bucky try to reconnect... 
> 
>  
> 
> _It felt so good to have Bucky by his side again. They hadn’t been in touch since that last night at the Stark Expo before Bucky had shipped out. Steve had been inducted the next day, then off to basic and then right out on tour with the USO after that. If Bucky had written, no letters had made it to Steve. They needed time to catch up. They needed time, together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my amazing beta plumeria47! Her works can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumeria47/pseuds/plumeria47
> 
> Also each chapter posted in this series operates as individual vignettes that can be read in any order. This is, however, a companion fic to A Soul Submerged in Sleep. This chapter operates as a prequel to chapter 2 of that fic.

**CH 2**

**November 1943. London, England – St Ermin Hotel - SSR Headquarters**

Steve has to admit, he’s never been a fan of Colonel Phillips. The man’s abrasive demeanor and dismissive attitude toward Steve’s role in Project Rebirth had convinced Steve that Colonel Phillips was the sort of man he’d have gone fisticuffs with in a Brooklyn alley. But Steve now knows he was wrong. In the seventy-two hours after the return of nearly 400 troops from the 107,th Colonel Phillips spoke with every single man. He gave them kind words. He promised them he’d move heaven and earth to stop the MIA/KIA telegrams that had already been put in the comm pipeline. He sat by the bedsides of men who were too ill or injured from overwork in the Hydra factory— reading to them, playing cards, even cracking jokes with the ones who were in good spirits. Steve had seen this and it heartened him. It made the choice easy when he was offered a post with Phillips’ SSR Allied Forces division.

Everyone who’d been well enough to travel had bugged out from the Italian Front and been given forty-eight hours R&R in London. Tomorrow, Steve would attend another debriefing session of his rescue mission and provide all the intel on Hydra he’d been able to gather— this time directly with Phillips. If things go his way, he will be able to handpick the men he’ll lead in his own Special Operations Command Force. Their mission? Wipe as many high value Hydra targets off the map as they can. Steve has a lot of work ahead of him. He’s excited to get in the thick of it. To do his part. To really make a difference. But tonight? Tonight is for something else.

***

Steve paces outside near the St. Ermin’s service entrance. The rendezvous was set for 21:30. It’s now 21:37. He takes a breath. No reason to be nervous. Bucky’s been well trained. As the 107th’s designated marksman he’s become an expert in all manners of stealth and subterfuge. Sneaking into the officer’s quarters at a secret Allied Command Base should be no problem. Right? Steve hopes so. The two men hadn’t had a moment alone since Steve pulled Bucky out of what had looked to be some sort of torture chamber. Bucky had insisted he was fine, and by the looks of it he was A-OK. He’d been cleared to return to duty by the medics and no red flags had been sent up during his three-day debrief of his ordeal as a POW. Still, Steve has to know— he has to see for himself.

On the hike back from Austria Bucky had mostly kept quiet, in lock step just behind and to the right of Steve. It felt so good to have Bucky by his side again. They hadn’t been in touch since that last night at the Stark Expo before Bucky had shipped out. Steve had been inducted the next day, then off to basic and then right out on tour with the USO after that. If Bucky had written, no letters had made it to Steve. They needed time to catch up. They needed time, together. It would have been much easier to manage had they both been enlisted men. But, the Army has strict regulations against fraternization between officers and grunts. Friendships put operations and lives at risk, not to mention morale. The slightest appearance of favoritism could jeopardize the success and safety of everyone in the field.  If Bucky is going to join Steve’s command force they’re going to have to be careful. Because, the truth of it is, what he and Bucky have is much more than a friendship. Even if they don’t have a name for it. Even if they’ve never even really discussed what’s been going on between them for the better part of a decade.

***

“Sorry,” Bucky says breathlessly as he hops up on the loading dock behind the hotel, “I couldn’t shake Dum Dum and Falsworth. Those two guys can talk.” He pats the sides of his head dramatically. “Do I still have my ears? Have they fallen off?”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, a deliberate underplay of the relief he feels at Bucky’s apparent easy mood. “No missing parts that I can see. You’re intact, soldier. Though you’re late. I should make you drop and give me twenty.”

“How ‘bout you just get me inside so I don’t have my ass handed to me by the MPs.”

Steve nods and holds open the door for Bucky. They make their way to the service elevator. Or lift as he’s learned it’s called in Great Britain. Once the doors close Steve sidles into Bucky’s space. It’s still jarring to be able to look directly into those steel blue eyes of his. There’s so much Steve’s going to have learn to get used to with this new body of his. His most immediate thought right now is what does Bucky think? Is this change just too much? Does Bucky still want him this way? He can’t ask. That’s never been their game. When they talk about it at all it’s all playful bravado. Or on the rare occasion very subtle but quite dirty innuendo. The most difficult part of it all is Bucky never starts it. Sure, at times he’ll give Steve that certain look. But, it’s always Steve who crosses the room. He’s the one who puts his lips on Bucky’s. He’s the one who invites Bucky into his bed.  Steve wants to know why. But he’s afraid of the answer. He’s afraid that if they talk about it, it’ll break the spell and it’ll be over. He won’t risk that. That’s why he can’t tell Bucky how he really feels. So instead, he plays his part and belies the true earnest nature of his words. He’s a breath away from Bucky when Steve says, “Kiss me.”

Bucky gives Steve a smile so rakish Steve can feel it in his gut. “Is that an order?”

“Just a request. You know I like it when you drive.” Steve takes a step closer, his chest is touching Bucky’s. “So, Sergeant, have I got your motor running?”

But before Bucky answers the elevator comes to a jerky stop. The doors open to a large industrial kitchen with several workers bustling about preparing evening meals for the hotel restaurant. On instinct, Steve steps out of the elevator. As the doors begin to close he says, “Room 314. Five minutes.”

Steve makes his way through the kitchen, then the dining hall and into the main lobby of the hotel. He was just about to push the stairwell door up to the guest rooms when he hears his name called.

“Captain Rogers!” Dum Dum calls out as he makes a quick step up to Steve.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow with concern. This was an officers-only hotel (and a secret base); enlisted men bunked at an inn about a half mile west of town. “Sergeant Dugan. Is everything all right?”

“Right as rain, Captain. I was just dropping this off for you at the front desk.” Dum Dum hands Steve a bottle of bourbon. “A little taste of home, Sir. Or my home at least. Genuine Kentucky bourbon.  I’ve had it in my footlocker since I re-enlisted after Pearl Harbor. Been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” Steve’s touched.

“No words necessary. You springing me from that Hydra joint was aces. Not even this elixir of the gods will make us square, but it’s a start. If you’re keen to hear it I can tell ‘ya how I managed to hold on to this through six months of inspections.”

“We are square. I couldn’t have gotten all those fellas back to base if it wasn’t for you, soldier. And I’d like to hear that story about your smuggling skills, Steve replies lightly. “How about over a few rounds at The Whip & Fiddle tomorrow night? 19:30?”

Dum Dum salutes then says, “Sure thing, Captain. Tomorrow night.”

Steve returns the salute then adds, “Bring the boys from the tank along with you. We’ll make a night of it.” Even if the debriefing doesn’t go as planned tomorrow, he still owes his thanks to the team of men who’d helped him take down that factory and save Bucky. They’d really given the enemy hell.

“Roger that, Cap.”

Then, as Steve makes his way upstairs he decides that Bucky could probably use a swig or two. Though he’s been in good spirits, Steve’s noticed a darkness in Bucky’s otherwise easy expression. He knows better than to ask what Hydra did to him. All Bucky would say is, “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They didn’t get nothing outta me except name, rank and serial number.” And although Steve is certain that Hydra didn’t break Bucky, they did get under his skin. Steve resolves not to pry. He’ll just be there for Bucky, the same way Bucky has always been there for him. They don’t need words. They just need each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will begin as a coda set after CH 3 of A Soul Submerged in Sleep. You don't need to have read that fic but for those who want to I thought I'd offer you the connection. 
> 
> Comments are love!


	3. CH 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get complicated... 
> 
>  
> 
> _Bucky had been right, they are different in that regard. Women make Steve feel something, something that Bucky says he doesn’t feel. Sure, Bucky likes ‘em. He loves to flirt. Maybe it’s part ego, maybe it’s part self-preservation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta plumeria47
> 
> This chapter corresponds to CH 3 in A Soul Submerged in Sleep if you want more details about what they're referencing in this one.

**January 1943 London, SSR Headquarters – Captain Steve Rogers’ Office**

Steve worries the compass between his fingers. In the last month, it’s easily become his most important possession— a symbol of Bucky’s commitment. Steve had been heartbroken when Bucky put the brakes on the unnamable thing between them, but he also had sworn that he would never leave Steve. He plays the words over and over in his head. Bucky had carefully placed a newspaper photo of Peggy in the lid of the compass and then said _She’s your true north. But don’t worry, Steve. I’ve always got your six._

Bucky had also said Peggy was Steve’s chance at _a normal life_. But is that what Steve wants? He’s never really given much thought to the future— not when the next bout of pneumonia could easily have meant an end game for Steve. It’s not that he hasn’t imagined what it’d be like to have a wife, to raise a family. Bucky had been right, they are different in that regard. Women make him feel something, something that Bucky says he doesn’t feel.  Sure, Bucky likes ‘em. He loves to flirt. Maybe it’s part ego, maybe it’s part self-preservation. That’s another promise Bucky has kept. He’s careful, to a fault. He never gives anyone any reason to suspect. That’s why they hadn’t spent Bucky’s last night together in Brooklyn. Even if Steve hadn’t tried to enlist at the expo the plan all along had been for Bucky to stay at his folks’ place that night. He hadn’t wanted to have to lie whenever he’d been asked what he did before he shipped out.

Steve guesses that, for Bucky, they’d had just one too many close calls. Maybe that’s why Bucky has put a stop to everything. If all they’d been doing was making time maybe Steve could accept it a little easier. But that’s not what it’s been for Steve. It’s more. He knows it’s not something that two men can have. But, when has “can’t” ever stopped him before?

Admittedly, it’s a shitty move. But summoning Bucky under orders is the only way he could get a moment alone with him. It’s been strictly business between them for more than a month. And Steve can’t get his mind right for this next sortie to Belgium until he talks to Bucky.

An MP opens the door. “Sergeant Barnes is here to see you, Sir.”

“Thanks, send him in.” Steve gets up from behind his desk and waits.

Bucky walks in while shaking his head. “Really Steve, calling me to your office?” He’s irritated, Steve can tell, but not angry. That’s good. One less obstacle. “You’re really making the most of those two silver bars on your shoulder.”

Steve glances at his Captain’s insignia then shrugs. “Rank has its perks, I suppose,” he offers easily. Then softer, “I just wanted a chance for us to talk, alone. You and the Howlies are all joined at the hip these days.”

“Steve, you know why it’s not a good idea for us to be alone.”

Steve ignores Bucky’s warning and continues, “Remember when I was sick?”

“Which time?”

“Pick one. You used to say we’d just take each day as it comes.”

“That’s right.” Bucky’s tone tells Steve he’s on guard. So much for fewer obstacles.

“Why can’t we still do that?” He takes a step toward Bucky. Immediately Bucky tenses. It’s like a gut punch for Steve.

“You know why. It’s too much of a risk. That corporal was on to you. He saw my coat on your floor. We both know he did.  Christ, he as much as admitted it when he asked you if he should send up two cups of coffee instead just one.”

Steve remembers that morning. Bucky had barely been able to hit the deck under the bed before a young corporal had walked into Steve’s room to tell him his briefing had been moved up. “He won’t tell, he as much as said that, too.” The GI had made it clear that Steve had nothing to worry about— he, thankfully, hadn’t seen Bucky. At least that’s how Steve took the exchange.

“He may not say anything today or tomorrow, or even for the duration. But what about five years from now when he can’t make rent? You’re telling me he won’t call up a rag mag and sell a story about how he knows that Captain America is a pillow biter?” Now Bucky’s angry. At what, Steve’s not entirely sure. So he tries another tactic.

“So much has changed for me, Buck. And I really miss what we—” Steve stops when Bucky cuts him off.

“Listen to me, Rogers. The only thing that makes me able to get out of bed and look myself in the mirror is knowing that I can protect you. That I can keep you safe. It’s the one thing about myself that I don’t hate. That’s why I’m doing this. I’ve been trying to keep you safe since the day I pulled you out of a goddamn garbage can when you were nine years old. It’s the one thing that makes me feel like I’m a man, not some… If protecting you means we can’t scratch that itch anymore then so be it.”

Steve eyes sting. He can’t even begin to process what Bucky’s just told him. Instead, he says, “But I’m not that ninety-eight pound weakling anymore. So, can’t we—” 

“Don’t Steve. I’ve never had the strength to say no to you. So, if you really are my friend you won’t ask me. Not anymore.”

***

Steve understands now: Bucky needs it to stop more than Steve needs it to keep going. _Sex._ Steve says to himself. That’s all that’s they’ve given up. They’re still best friends. They still have a lifetime of shared memories. They’re still gonna be by each other’s side no matter what. A lotta people have given up much more because of this war. So somehow, he and Bucky are able to find their way back into that easy groove of camaraderie that only a very lucky few get to experience. And Steve will keep his promise, he’ll do everything he can to make Bucky breathe a little easier. Steve’ll show Bucky that he doesn’t have to worry about him, not all the time anyway.

Days later they’re standing in Steve’s office again. Bucky’s running a comb through Steve’s hair, getting his part just so.

When Bucky nods approvingly Steve pleads with a playfully dramatic flourish, “Buck. Please don’t make me do this.”

Bucky groans. He crosses the room and opens the door just a crack before manhandling Steve into position to look out in the SSR war room.“It’s just dinner in the officers' mess. She’s not going to turn you down.”

Incredulously, Steve huffs, “Have you forgotten that the woman shot at me?”

“She shot in your general direction to test Stark’s prototype,” Bucky replies dismissively. “That’s entirely different.”

“You weren’t there. Peggy’s terrifying. I’m telling you.”

“Look at me.”

Steve turns to face Bucky, letting the door close again. They’re in each other’s space, but Steve tries to keep from enjoying it too much.

He waits as Bucky asks, “How come we’re pals?”

“What’d you mean?”

“What is it about me that’s kept you from kicking me to the curb all these years?”

That’s easy, Steve thinks. The hard part is narrowing the list down so Bucky can make his point. “You’re strong, funny, loyal and smart— well except when you’re being a blockhead that is.”

“Mmhmm. And how’s Carter any different?”

Steve gives Bucky a pointed look.

“Besides the obvious, idiot.”

“What are you getting at, Bucky?”

“Don’t talk to her like she’s a dame. Your tongue will get all twisted like it always does. Talk to her like she’s an actual person. Women respond to that. Even I’ve figured that one out.”

“I’m aware that women are people, Bucky. I don’t know that that’ll make it any easier for me to ask her out.”

Steve notices how Bucky’s fussing over some dust on Steve’s uniform— picking the tiny bits away before he says, “Steve, I’ve heard the way you talk to the Howlies and any other grunt that comes your way. I’ve seen you stand up to Phillips and the rest of the brass. Use that gift of gab with her. Show her you respect her.”

“I do respect her!”

“I’m not talking about the way Brother Anthony would tell us we have to treat good girls. Show her you respect her for her skills, for her mind, for the contributions she’s making to the war effort. They say she’s a blue blood. She could be spending her days at tea parties. Instead, she’s been on the front lines with us, in the thick of it.”

Steve turns back and cracks the door open again. Peggy is giving a poor private a dress down for something he’s obviously done wrong. He smiles to himself then turns back and asks Bucky, “You really think that’ll work?”

“I’d bet my best pair of dancing shoes. Now go get her, Cap.”

***

She says yes.  They eat together— something called bangers and mash, for rations he can’t complain. She tells him about how her brother put her up for the SSR before he was killed in action. Steve tells her about how his mom worked extra hours in the TB ward so she could pay his medical bills. She compliments him on how well he’s leading the Howling Commandos. _You inspire them. It’s a skill that can’t be taught. Erskine knew what he was doing_ , she says. He compliments her on her ability to go toe-to-toe with Phillips. They agree that the Colonel is all bark and no bite.

He likes the way she laughs. He likes the way one loose curl bounces on her cheek. He like the way she makes him feel about himself. There’s just one problem. She’s not Bucky.

 


	4. CH 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve entertains a few thoughts...
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s just a thought. But in that moment Steve wonders what that would feel like. To touch a man that way. To touch Bucky that way._

CH 4

November 1933- Brooklyn, New York

Steve has always had an appreciation for the human form. Sure, he enjoys working on still **-** life projects and he's even dabbled in the occasional cubist piece if for no other reason than it’s the movement of the day. But bodies are his favorite subjects. Maybe it’s because his own body has always been so unreliable? Perhaps. Nonetheless, he’s spent hours working on intricacies of hands and fingers. He tries to capture “life” in human eyes— that’s always been a challenge for him. He focuses on the details of the fine lines of age. Most of his works are sketches of his mother. She typically indulges him in the mornings when she returns from her shift at the hospital before Steve has to get ready for school It’s a win-win. They get to spend some time together catching up, he works on his art, and she gets to rest her feet.

Bucky also sits for him from time to time— that is when Steve can convince him to keep still long enough. When the weather is mild Bucky will even take off his shirt so Steve can practice capturing human musculature. Lately, it’s been difficult to keep up with the changes in Bucky’s physique. He’s grown half a foot in the last few months. His shoulders and arms are much broader than they’d been in just the last school year. And in the afternoons when Bucky comes over, he’s started to have hints of a five o’clock shadow that’s gonna make him look like he’s well out of high school, sooner than later.

Steve figures he’s noticed these details because of his artist’s eye. It’s not like he’s had much else to do lately. He’s had a sore throat and a fever that he hasn’t been able to shake. The doctor hasn’t made a clear diagnosis, but he’s prescribed daily doses of aspirin tablets and bed rest. It’s not helping. Steve’s missed nearly a month of school. Bucky stops by several times a week to try and help Steve stay caught up but just holding a pencil has become difficult. And the pain in his joints is getting worse. Steve can’t even make it to the wash closet without help because he’s so off-balance. His mother has been able to swap her shift with a fellow nurse so she can be with Steve through the night when he tends to be at his worst. He hates that the first thing she has to do when she gets home from twelve-hours of tending to her patients is clean his bedpan.

It’s not as if Steve’s alone all day. Aside from Bucky’s visits, Sister Katherine stops by each morning and evening to make sure Steve is eating.  The young, energetic nun is also trained as a nurse. She’s good at distracting Steve with stories about serving people with the Red Cross during the in the early days of the Dust Bowl back before she had taken her vows. Steve’s not so good at talking to her. And he admittedly sometimes finds himself thinking about her in ways that he ought not to think about a nun. He has managed to tell her a bit about his interest in art. The fact that she seems so genuinely interested hasn’t helped keep his mind from wandering into the kind of territory that he’ll have to talk about during confession— even if he’s never really understood how thoughts can be sinful.

Today, Sister Katherine arrives with a large seemingly **-** heavy basket.

Steve sits up in bed as best he can as soon as she enters his room. “What’cha got there, Sister?”

Sister Katherine sets the basket down, takes off her long wool overcoat and shakes the snow from her wimple— little flakes fall from the fabric covering her head. She then smiles and brings the basket to Steve’s bedside and says, “You said the other day that you’re having trouble working on your sketches. I didn’t see why that should be a reason for you to keep from enjoying art, though, while you’re feeling under the weather. I don’t know much about creative endeavors. So, I asked the librarian to help me check out a wide selection. Is there anything here you like?

Steve surveys the varied collection of art books: the impressionists, the renaissance masters, art deco, neo-classicists, and Greek and Roman art. “These are great, Sister. Thank you.” He opens the large glossy-paged book of impressionist works and thumbs through prints of Monet, Cezanne and others.

“Don’t let word get out that you have these,” Sister Katherine says in a playful whisper, “They are supposed to stay in the reference section, but the librarian is a Catholic. You’d be surprised by how helpful wearing a habit can be.”

Steve smiles, “Oh, I’ve heard. Brother Anthony says he hasn’t had to pay for a cup of coffee ever since he started wearing his cassock.”

The nun laughs. “Well, as long as you keep our secret.”

“I promise,” Steve returns amicably.

***

Later the same evening Steve finds himself restless. The chicken soup he’d eaten for dinner had soothed his throat and the salve Sister Katherine had applied to his joints left him feeling better than he has in a while. He knows it’s temporary. He’ll wake up achy, sore and feverish in the morning. His stiff frame will worry his mother even though she’ll try to assure him that he’s going to be fine. Tonight, though, he’s almost feeling good.

Steve switches on the Silverstone that his mother had moved from the living area into Steve’s bedroom but Edgar and Charlie McCarthy aren’t really holding his interest— not that they ever really do. He’s always been somewhat baffled at the appeal of a radio ventriloquist act. So he picks up one of the larger books that are stacked on his bedside table— Greek & Roman Art.

Steve has visited the Met a few times— it has an incredible antiquities exhibit. He’s spent hours there eyeing the sculptures, taking in every detail in the hope of helping with his figure drawing efforts. Of course, the exhibit also includes various archeological finds, pottery mostly. But he’s certain he’s never seen anything on display like the vases photographed for this book. The first vase that catches his eye has a caption that reads “Achilles & Patroclus.” It depicts two men sitting next two each other while one bandages the wounds of the other. The image strikes Steve. The injured man is looking away. The expression on his face is complicated. It’s as if he’s both embarrassed and grateful for his friend’s help. The other man is wearing a simple smile, like he’s not bothered at all that he has to administer aide to the wounded man.

It’s an easy leap to make. He and Bucky have been best friends for over seven years and during that time Steve’s received more than his share of cuts, bruises and welts. Bucky’s always there with a handkerchief and when necessary he tends to Steve’s injuries so they don’t have get adults involved— especially when Steve’s taken a beating. Nobody likes a snitch, not in this neighborhood. But it’s also something more. Steve remembers when his English class had read excerpts from _The Illiad._

Excerpts. 

He thinks back to that day in class...

Sally Andrews asked, “Mr. Williams. I don’t understand. At first Achilles says he won’t fight in the war and then on the next page he’s leading the charge.”

“Several passages have been redacted. Scholars have argued over the how certain portions of the Homer’s work should be interpreted, but as E.M. Forster wrote, Achilles and Patroclus participated in the unspeakable vice of the Greeks.”

Steve raised his hand. “What did they do that was unspeakable?” He honestly didn’t know.

The teacher raised an eyebrow. “If I told you it wouldn’t be unspeakable, now would it, Mr. Rogers?”

On the walk home that afternoon Bucky explained things to him. With a hint of annoyance in his tone he said, “They were fucking, Steve.”

“Wait, what? How do you figure?” Steve was beyond confused. Nothing he read in _The Illiad_ led Steve to think Achilles as a queer. From his description he was anything but. After all, the high school textbook publisher didn’t find it too scandalous to include a passage about Achilles keeping a young woman named Briseis as his concubine.

“You gotta read between the lines is all, not all fellas who do that sort of thing are sissies like that Matheson kid.”

Steve grimaced. He didn’t like when anyone was called names. “You shouldn’t call him that. He can’t help the way he is.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t doubt it. But he’s asking for trouble. Advertising it the way he does. He needs to learn how to keep it under wraps if he doesn’t want to end up in a ditch.”

Steve noticed how ashen Bucky suddenly was. He figured that it was because Bucky never liked the thought of people getting bullied— or worse. They walked in silence for a few minutes. And Bucky only appeared to shake his mood when Steve suggested they go catch the new Marx Brothers flick instead doing their homework right away.

That memory is with him when Steve turns the page. Two more vases featuring Achilles and Patroclus. One depicts the two men standing in front of each other, nude. Patroclus’ hand is outstretched reaching for Achilles’ penis. The next leaves even less to the imagination. Achilles is on his knees with his mouth open while Patroclus is positioning his erect penis to enter Achilles’ mouth.

It’s just a thought. But in that moment Steve wonders what that would feel like. To touch a man that way. To touch Bucky that way. He lets the images form in his mind. He’s seen Bucky naked before. He knows what his cock looks like. But the thought of how it might feel in his hand— in his mouth? As he reaches under the covers Steve is silently thankful that Father Patrick never asks for specifics during confession. Impure thought. Impure deed. No need for details beyond that.  It’s not like Steve is really doing anything unnatural. And it’s not like Bucky would ever do that sort of thing. Hell. He made it with his homecoming date less than a month ago. It’s also not like Steve would ever actually indulge in what he’s thinking about. He’s completely hard now. Despite his being an adolescent boy it’s not often that Steve is in this sort of mood.  He knows he likes girls. He wouldn’t trip over this tongue the way he does if he didn’t. But these thoughts of touching Bucky and of Bucky touching him? Jesus. Steve can’t remember ever feeling this way before.

It doesn’t take long. Steve’s breath is thready, but not from his asthma. He uses a rag to clean himself up, being careful not get anything on the sheets. He knows he should feel bad about what he’s done and what he was thinking about while he did it. But he doesn’t. He’s happy. He’s happy that for just a few short minutes he was able to forget that if this fever he has turns out to be is something worse, he may not get out of this bed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The E.M. Forster quote is real. It's from his novel Maurice. As is the debate about the nature of Achilles and Patroclus' relationship. See (The Symposium). 
> 
> The images on the vase are real too except only the bandaging scenes is explicitly named as Achilles and Patroclus. The other two scenes you can easily find with a google search of homorerotic Greek and Roman art. 
> 
> This chapter is set in between CH 4-CH 5 of A Soul Submerged in Sleep.


	5. CH 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve resolves to act on his feelings for Bucky...
> 
> _Steve is done doing what other people say is right. He’s going to do what— he knows in his gut— feels right. And kissing Bucky Barnes is the best feeling Steve has ever had._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bucky's actual "coming out" moment see CH 5 of A Soul Submerged in Sleep which takes place in the same few months as this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again to my awesome beta plumeria47!!

CH 5

Summer 1933 – Western Pennsylvania

 _Steve is living on borrowed time_. Those were the exact words the doctor told Steve’s mother when they thought he was still unconscious. They were the first words Steve heard when he came to after his fever broke. He’d recovered from the pneumonia and the various symptoms of rheumatic fever that had caused him to miss almost an entire semester of high school, but the damage to his heart was permanent. Steve would be able to get full range of motion in his joints again, he’d be able to put weight back on— but his heart? The doctor said _Steve’ll be lucky if he makes it to age thirty._

These are the words Steve thinks about as he looks out at the softly rolling hills of Bucky’s Aunt Ida’s goat farm. Bucky’s here to help with kidding season. Steve is here to convalesce in the fresh country air. _Get out of the city_ had been his doctor’s most recent prescription. But now that he and Bucky are here so much has changed. And it’s Steve’s own borrowed time that’s egging him on to doings that he’s only ever imagined— to do things that he never thought could possibly happen.

When he found out about Bucky the first thing Steve said was _It’s dangerous and illegal._ Then came Bucky’s admission that he’d spent the past several months going into the city to do _things_ with men he met in bars. As stunned as Steve was, he also felt like he should have known all along. And the look of defeat and shame on Bucky’s face when he told Steve about what he’d been doing broke Steve’s heart. He was also terrified for Bucky’s safety.

Back home the neighborhood was still reeling from what happened to Claire Matheson’s brother. Sure, they lived in a somewhat rough area but this was a murder— and a particularly violent one at that. The young man had been killed because he never made any secret about what he was. Fantasizing, even adolescent exploration, was one thing. Steve, himself, can’t say he hasn’t indulged in thinking about it. But it’s altogether different if those sort of interests and feelings are what a person _is_. Bucky is a queer? There’s no way Steve is going to let him go through that alone. That’s what Steve tells himself, anyway. Maybe that’s why Steve kissed him that first time?

Now as Steve sits on the sprawling front porch of Aunt Ida’s farmhouse he tries to figure out precisely why he feels the way he does about Bucky. He knows for certain that Bucky has an aesthetic appeal. He’s a handsome fella, no doubt. That is an objective fact. The artist in Steve knows that. But now, whenever they’re within an arm’s reach of each other all Steve wants to do is kiss Bucky. And if they’re alone that’s precisely what Steve does. It’s like the pull of a magnet. Bucky always seems simultaneously surprised and delighted to oblige. Steve has never seen Bucky look so light— like a burden has been literally been lifted off of him. That is unless Steve tries to talk about it. Bucky either distracts Steve from conversation with more kisses or, more often, Bucky tenses— silently, but clearly, letting Steve knows that there will be no discussion. Maybe that’s just how it is? That’s how Bucky’s protected himself for God knows how long? And now, once again, Bucky’s in a position where he has to protect Steve too? Steve prays that’s not what’s going on, even if he guesses, praying isn’t going to help with this problem.

Problem.

Steve resolves in that moment that whatever it is that’s happening between them it’s not going to be a problem. His life is literally too short. And Steve is done doing what other people say is right. He’s going to do what— he knows in his gut— feels right. And kissing Bucky Barnes is the best feeling Steve has ever had.

***

“Where we headed?” Steve asks as Bucky pulls the pickup truck off of the farm property and on to a gravel road that follows along the Pennsy Rail line.

“You ask too many questions, Rogers,” Bucky replies with a smirk as he props an elbow on the open window of the truck door. “Just gonna have to wait and find out.”

Never being one to let things go Steve answers, “Well we’re headed due east and you told me to ‘gussy up.’ Are we going to Pittsburgh?” _Is Bucky taking me on a date?_ Steve silently wonders.

“If you’re gonna bug me for the next two hours, I’ll just turn around and we can let Aunt Ida teach us how to play pinochle,” Bucky warns in mock anger.

“Like you’ve ever been able to play cards,” Steve volleys.

“Remind me again why I’ve kept you around all these years,” Bucky playfully grumbles.

Steve simply reaches over and rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh in response. He watches as Bucky sighs and then sucks in his bottom lip. 

Bucky shifts his left arm from the window and takes hold of the wheel. He then places his right hand over Steve’s before saying, “You’re gonna be the death of me. I just know it.”

***

The Warner Movie Palace in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is quite possibly the most beautiful building Steve has ever seen. Sure, from outward appearances it is just another urban brick structure but the interior is like something out of a fairy tale. Velvet seats, fine carpeting, mahogany concession stands, a double grand staircase leading up to the balcony, and elaborate gilded ornamentation on the walls from floor to ceiling. Steve takes in the sight with awe.

Bucky swings a casual arm over Steve’s shoulders, “I know you were sore that you had to miss the Radio City Music Hall grand opening because you were sick. The paper said it was partly modeled after this place. I figured a trip here is the next best thing.”

“I don’t know what to say, Buck. This is incredible. Really.”

“You could say thanks for dragging your skinny ass here. That’d be a start,” Bucky replies, starting their typical banter.

Steve takes the cue and rolls his eyes. “How’s about I buy us a box of popcorn to share and we’ll call it even.”

“I buy us tickets— that by the way were four bits each! I drive us two hours. And you get the nickel popcorn. That’ll make us square. Sure thing.”

“Fine. I’ll spring for a Coca-Cola for each of us too.”

Bucky holds up his hands in surrender. “Woah, well look who’s the big spender.”

Steve just pushes Bucky forward toward the concession stand. “Just get in line, punk.”

***

 _The Eagle and the Hawk_ is a war picture and it’s darker than Steve had expected. Films about the Great War tend to ask questions that can’t be answered about the true toll war takes on a man. But this one is particularly devastating. A young supporting actor named Cary Grant steals the show as Crocker, an airman that’s always passed over for missions. He resents his being left behind because he’s too green. He’s given the official designation of “observer,” counting the planes that take off and those that make it back to base. That is until a particularly brutal dog fight makes him the last man standing in his unit. It’s then that he sees that his friend and CO has cracked because of all he’s endured. Crocker’s unable to help his friend who sadly takes his own life. In the final scene Crocker carries his body behind enemy lines and makes it look as if the suicide was actually a fatal combat wound.

The picture leaves both Steve and Bucky in a somber mood. Steve guesses that Bucky’s thinking about the times when Mr. Barnes gets quiet around Armistice Day. And Steve can’t help but think about the time he was at the library and he looked up what mustard gas does to a person.

They walk quietly for about a block before Bucky claps Steve on the back of his neck. Steve reckons Bucky is attempting to lift their spirits when he brightly suggests, “Come on Steve. Let’s go get some grub.”

Both Steve and Bucky only have pocket change so they opt for one of the food carts that line a street of the industrial section of town known as the strip district. They decide on a sandwich maker called Primanti Bros. The sandwich is just about as astounding as the movie palace had been. Sliced beef, fried potatoes, coleslaw and cheese are all stacked together on a huge bun. They each take half of the sandwich and eat on the walk back to the truck. The food does the trick.

Steve takes the last bite he can handle then says, “This has been swell, Buck. A damn near perfect night.”

Bucky nods as he tosses the sandwich wrap in the gutter. “Damn near perfect is right. Next time we’ll have to scare up a couple broads to come along. Then it’ll be a gas, no doubt.”

Steve stops. Puzzled, he asks, “Why?”

Buck, now a step ahead, turns and replies, “Because that’s what red-blooded American males do when they go out on the town.” Then, as if daring Steve to say otherwise, he asks, “We’re red-blooded American males, aren’t we Steve?”

Steve decides in an instant that the only way to answer is to follow Bucky’s script.  With a degree of enthusiasm he hopes Bucky finds convincing Steve replies, “ ‘Course we are! And those gals will be the lucky ones.”

***

As the weeks go by Steve learns the unwritten rules of their game. By all accounts, they’re best pals just like they’ve always been. Nothing there has changed. And to all outward appearances he and Bucky are as normal as any other fellas. Maybe that is the case for Steve, mostly. Ever since Steve’s started having the sort of night’s sleep that’d make him have to change his shorts before he’d meet his mother in the kitchen for breakfast, he’d always dream about girls. But at the same time, it’s more than just Bucky he’s interested in when it comes to men. He’s found himself thinking about that new young actor Cary Grant more than once – usually in the morning, when he’s alone in the shower. Grant’s dark hair, smoldering eyes, and rakish grin cause sparks to run down Steve’s spine.  This doesn’t bother him. Even if he can’t quite explain it. Not that explaining anything is on the table when it comes to him and Bucky.

They still don’t talk about what’s happening between them. If there’s any sort of verbal communication at all it is minimal and strictly procedural. And Bucky has never once even given a hint of initiating what they’ve been doing when they’re alone together. Now, at nearly the end of July, they’ve gone beyond just kissing. And Steve wants to keep going. So, on a particularly cool, breezy night as Bucky washes his hands at the well pump Steve walks up. He checks to make sure they’re not in ear shot of the other farmhands and asks, “Barn loft? Ten o’clock?”

A grin plays Bucky’s lips and he gives Steve a quick wink in reply.

***

Bucky is already waiting when Steve arrives. He shakes off the struggle of having climbed the ladder and is on Bucky in an instant. They stand in the loft making quick work of removing each other’s shirts— kissing and licking and nipping at each other along the way.

Steve grinds up against Bucky’s thigh and then lowers himself to his knees. Just as he reaches forward to unzip Bucky’s fly Steve is unceremoniously yanked back up to a standing position.

“No.” Bucky says through clenched teeth. “No Steve. You’re better than that. I can’t treat you that way. You’re not some fairy working the docks for two bits.”

In a horribly misguided attempt at humor Steve says, “You’re right. I’m worth at least a buck, Buck.” The joke falls flat. Steve just watches as a dozen different emotions, none of them good, flash in Bucky’s wet eyes. Steve takes breath and reaches up to cup Bucky’s cheek in his hand, ignoring the way he flinches when he does it. Softly, Steve starts again. “Look, it’s obvious I don’t know what I’m doing. But like I’ve told you before. I like when I’m able to make you feel good. That’s all I was trying. I’m sorry if it’s not what you want.”

Bucky worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He then makes the slightest glance toward a small pile of empty feed bags in the corner of the loft. Steve follows Bucky’s line of sight and risks going to lie down. Bucky stands still for a few beats and then joins Steve’s side. The kissing starts again. This time Steve is careful not to try and take the lead. Bucky’s on top of him now. Their skin is flushed and their breathing is ragged. Steve can’t say when and how Bucky managed to work his pants off. But before Steve realizes what’s happening he’s in Bucky’s mouth. This is so much more than what it feels like to have just Bucky’s hands on him. So much more. Just this side of too much. But it feels really good. He lasts longer than he expects to, probably because of his nerves. When Steve finally opens his eyes Bucky is already standing up to get dressed.

Bucky looks back over his shoulder as he pulls his shirt on and says, “Don’t ever forget you’re worth a million bucks, Steve. Ten million. If I ever catch you even thinking otherwise, I’ll deck you for being an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Warner Movie Palace and Primanti Bros are real places in Pittsburgh and that sandwich I described is a real thing. Radio City Music Hall opened in Dec 1932 when I've set Steve illness to have taken hold. 
> 
> Also - in 1933 cities typically didn't supply public garbage cans. The gutter is where folks threw trash. So for it's time Bucky wasn't "littering" He purposefully threw the wrapper in the gutter instead of on the sidewalk which would have been rude.


	6. CH 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve learns about what happened to his father during the war.. 
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s only four o’clock now, another few hours before his mother’s shift is over. Steve’s home alone. Maybe it’s a form of restless melancholy that makes him do it— going through is mother’s private things. He opens a box that’s kept in the top drawer of her dresser. He’s seen her look through it. Whatever is inside makes his mother smile sometimes and cry other times._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make mention of the Brooklyn Robins at the end of this chapter. For a few years in the mid 1920s the Brooklyn Dodgers went by the name Robins. The game I mention and the players are from an actual game that happened in July 1928. :) 
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful beta plumeria47! 
> 
> WARNING: This chapter also provides a detailed description of the effects of mustard gas.

CH 6

July 1928 – Brooklyn, New York

Steve knows the story of when his father had been laid to rest well. Though he doesn’t have a clear memory of that day he knows it had been late in 1921— nearly three years after the Armistice, when the US Government had finally finalized negotiations with France to return American fallen soldiers’ remains to be buried in their hometowns. Steve’s mother often tells him a bedtime story of how she and his father met in the orphanage they’d grown up in, and how they’d been each other’s first love— high school sweethearts who’d married the day after graduation, mere months before Steve’s father shipped out.

She always ends the story with the reassurance that although his father had not made it home alive, he’d given her the greatest gift ever. “He gave me you, Steve. He’ll always be with me because I have you.” Of course, his mother had also told him that his dad had given his life serving his country in the Great War. A sacrifice that made him a hero. But Steve is ten years old before he learns precisely how his father died.

It’s only four o’clock now, another few hours before his mother’s shift is over. Steve’s home alone. Maybe it’s a form of restless melancholy that makes him do it— going through is mother’s private things. He opens a box that’s kept in the top drawer of her dresser. He’s seen her look through it. Whatever is inside makes his mother smile sometimes and cry other times.

Steve finds a number of photos and some papers that look grown up, official. There’s a picture of his mom and dad together at what looks like a school dance, probably junior high Steve guesses from how young they look. He brushes his finger gently over his mother’s face. She’s so pretty. And her smile is bigger than he’s ever seen. His dad, though probably only fourteen at the time, still looks like the hero Steve has conjured in his mind. While he’s seen photographs of him before, his mother doesn’t keep any out. They make her sad, she’s said. Steve opens an envelope that has US Army postage on it. Inside is a hand written letter that reads, _Dear Mrs. Rogers, By now you will have received word via telegram that your husband, Pvt Joseph Rogers, passed away on November 1st. I am writing today to offer my sincerest condolences. I hope to offer you a small bit of comfort as well. As the Chaplin assigned to the 107 th I was with Pvt Rogers in his final hours as he was being treated for exposure to mustard gas.  I sat with him. We prayed together. And he asked me to send you this message. Your husband wanted you to know that he loves you and he’s certain you will be a wonderful mother to your son, Steve. He also told me that he is not worried for you. He said you’re the strongest person he’s ever met. As he put it, whenever life knocks you down, you always get back up. He spoke of you so fondly. Please be assured that when his time came his heart was filled with love for you. Once I administered Last Rights in accordance with his Catholic faith Pvt. Rogers departed peacefully. He has now returned to the arms of the Father. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. Timothy Doyle, US Army Chaplin.  _

Steve knows his dates. The cease fire was November 11th. His father had died just ten days shy of the end of the war. He reads the letter again. Steve has just assumed his father was shot. But that’s not what the message says. He looks at the clock on his mother’s night stand. The Brooklyn Library will be open for another two hours.

***

The stern, gray-haired librarian grimaces. “Aren’t you a bit young for that book? We’ve got the latest Hardy Boys Mystery in. Wouldn’t you prefer that instead?”

“Thank you Ma’am, but no. I want to learn more about the War.” Steve straightens his posture and puffs his chest just a bit. Not quite a dare.

“The photographs are somewhat graphic,” the librarian tries. “Perhaps I can recommend something more age appropriate.”

“The library closes soon and this is the only book listed in the card catalogue that’s checked in,” Steve counters. Determined.

The woman sighs. Resigned she stamps the due date in the back of the book. “Back in a week,” she states curtly as she shakes her head and then signals the next patron.

Steve heads outside and sits on the front steps of the library. He flips to the index, looks up mustard gas and then takes a breath before turning to the page. On it are several grainy photos with large captions. He stares at the book as he learns about how his father most likely actually spent the last moments of his life, despite the Chaplin’s well-meaning message. The gas hits the eyes first, blinding a man. Within minutes blisters start forming in the throat and lungs. After an hour, any exposed skin is disfigured with welts. Masks slow the process— sometimes men survived, but that didn’t necessarily make them lucky. Eventually, the gas chokes a person to death. Even after they are rescued. It can take days. It’s described as _drowning in slow motion._

Both the Germans and the Allies used the gas. While it was lethally effective what those releasing the gas didn’t have control over was the wind. The last caption notes that of the two thousand American troops who died from gas between 1917-1918 many were victims of the very gas the US Army released to fight the enemy.

Steve is numb. He wishes he could rewind the clock. He wishes he’d checked out the Hardy Boys book instead. But now he knows, maybe better than others would considering his own lung troubles, about this horrible way people died. He hopes his father really had been awake enough to hear the priest, as the letter stated. Steve, himself, has had Last Rights administered once already when he had scarlet fever. He got through it with only some mild hearing and vision loss.  As awful as he’d felt in his sick bed, he can’t imagine how scared his dad must have been. Alone, at war, away from his wife and never having seen his newborn son.  The thought wrecks Steve. In that moment, Steve realizes he’s not afraid of death. But he is afraid of dying slowly and alone.

***

Steve has been thinking about his father a lot lately, and not just because of his recent snooping. He used to reason that a person can’t miss something he’s never had. But that idea has started to change now that he’s spent most of the summer at Ebbet’s Field with Bucky and his dad. The Brooklyn Robins have been on a losing streak since 1925. It makes season tickets extra cheap so Mr. Barnes bought an extra ticket so Steve could come along to the games. Steve loves going with Bucky and his dad to see the Robins play. The seats are great too, right on the first base line. It doesn’t matter that the Robins usually don’t win. That is to be expected— what with the players being nicknamed the “Daffiness Boys” and all. The team hasn’t been able to execute hardly a single play without making a dumb error. What Steve loves most, though, is just the ritual of baseball itself. Keeping stats, having a dog and a Coke, enjoying the summer heat, and watching for foul balls. That he gets to do all this with his new pal Bucky is an added bonus.

Mr. Barnes is all about the chatter. “Hey batta’ batta’,” he shouts as Lefty O’Doul of the reviled New York Giants— the Robins’ biggest rival— steps up to the plate.

 “Saaawwiinnnnggg Batta!” Steve and Bucky join in unison. They cheer when the umpire calls strike three. Maybe it’ll be the poor old Robins’ day today. Just five short years ago they’d been World Series contenders. Back before Uncle Robbie ran the team into the ground with his poor management. Steve has to admit, he’d love to see the Robins win this one. It’s been a long season already and it’s still only July.

Bucky’s dad is in high spirits. He hoots at the strike and lifts Bucky up into a hug. “Mark my words. This is a turning of the tide. The ‘Birds’ will get air under their wings yet. Just you watch.”

“You really think so, Pop?” Bucky asks his voice full of hope.

“If Dazzy Vance keeps throwing bullets like that? You bet. He’s heading for a career high.”

Steve watches the exchange between Bucky and his father. And he tries push away the pang of envy he feels as he looks at his friend have the kind of moment that every boy should have with their dads. Steve’s learning what he’s been missing.

At the bottom of the inning the Robins are back at bat. First up is Jigger Statz. It’s the moment everyone has been waiting for. If he gets on base he’ll have 4000th career hit. A first in baseball. Steve, Bucky and Mr. Barnes are watching history in the making.

Everyone is thrumming with excitement. Being that the Robins are the home team, the stands are silent. All the fans are holding their breaths to give Jigger the chance for total concentration. Steve watches the pitch, hears the crack of the bat and sees the ball shoot straight up into the air and right towards the foul line. He and Bucky both hold up their gloves readying themselves for the, admittedly slim, chance of catching an outside pop up. Steve tries to follow the ball but it disappears into the sun when his baseball cap falls off as he looks up into the sky. His eyes sting from the bright light and he turns back to pick up his cap. That’s when he hears Mr. Barnes yell, “Head’s up Steve! It’s coming right for ‘ya!”

But instead of searching for the ball Steve huddles into himself, using the glove to guard his head. He hears a loud thud and only then looks up to Bucky’s glove an inch from Steve’s nose. He’s holding the the foul ball. Steve is immediately embarrassed. He’s missed chance at catching Jigger Statz’s ball! And in front of Bucky’s dad too. But then something happens that marks this day for Steve forever.

Mr. Barnes tussles Steve’s hair and says brightly, “Great instincts, Steve. That ball was right in your blind spot with that darn sun in your eyes. If you’d been hit in the noggin it would have been lights out for you for sure.”

 Steve just shrugs. Still embarrassed he replies meekly, “I guess.”

Mr. Barnes shakes his head, “No fooling Steve, you made the right call. You know what they say, the best offense is a good defense. Don’t forget that one.”

It’s only then that Steve musters the courage to make eye contact with Bucky. He’s expecting his friend to be disappointed in him. Instead he just finds Bucky all smiles.

“I was only able to catch it because my cap kept the sun outta my eyes. The ball was meant for you. Go on, take it. It’s is technically Jigger’s 4000th after all. Gonna be worth a lot someday.” Bucky hold out his glove for Steve to take the ball.

“Naw, I can’t take it. It was your catch.”

Bucky takes the ball out his glove and places it in Steve’s. “It’s yours. Don’t belly ache about it, neither. **”** Steve starts to protest but Bucky continues, “How’s about this. You take that ball and then quit giving me grief for making you ride the Cyclone.”

Steve finally takes hold of the ball and looks over as Bucky and his dad. With he smirk he replies, “You got another thing coming if you think this’ll make us square.”

***

Mr. Barnes whistles an upbeat tune on the drive home. The Robins had clinched it at the bottom of the ninth and he’d sprung for malts to celebrate before they left Flatbush. Steve and Bucky have over **-** full bellies and they’re both exhausted but too excited to fall asleep. As Steve’s eyes finally begin to get heavy he thinks about the day. Yeah, it’s rough that he doesn’t have a dad like Bucky does. Steve realizes, though that he’s not alone. He’s got his mom, he’s got a best friend and the Robins might just be on their way to a winning season. Steve honestly can’t think of anything else he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The comments really help keep me going. Next chapter will include sexy times. :)


	7. CH 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve asks for what he wants.
> 
>  
> 
> _"...before you say anything, just because that’s something I want doesn’t mean I’m not a man.”_

CH 7

March 1937— Brooklyn, New York.

It’s only been six months since Steve’s lost his mom, but he’s beginning to settle in to his new normal. Routines have always been good for Steve. He may not be able to rely on his health, but a list of tasks helps him get up every day, assuming his body will cooperate. It’s more than a small blessing that this is the first winter he can remember that he’s been able to dodge an illness. He hasn’t even had a head cold. Of course, Bucky takes the credit. In his typical good-natured manner Bucky declares he's the reason Steve's has avoiding getting sick. Bucky repeatedly insists that Steve wear a cap and mittens whenever it drops below sixty-five degrees. Steve complains about bundling up, but he heeds Bucky’s advice nonetheless. He’s too busy to get hit with another bout of influenza, or god forbid, something more serious.

Every day Steve is up by 5:30 AM to letter sandwich boards and store-front windows for the delis and diners in the neighborhood. Then a ninety-minute trolley ride from Red Hook to Midwood gets Steve to Brooklyn College just in time for class at 10:00 AM. He only attends part time. Even if he could afford to take a full load of classes, the joints in his hand only hold out for so long, a lingering reminder of the rheumatic fever that nearly put him six feet under. This semester he’s enrolled in Art History and Introduction to Figure Drawing. Even just two classes are somewhat overwhelming if he’s being honest with himself. In the evenings Steve has his shift as a delivery boy for Mendelson’s Bakery. After which, he digs in to homework. It’s always a race to finish before Bucky gets home from work. Tonight, though, Steve has some extra time.

The tub water is warm and soothing. A long soak is an indulgence he usually doesn’t take the time to enjoy but Bucky is at a taxi-dance with his union brothers, an outing that has become a weekly ritual for the dock workers ever since the Wonder Room opened in the neighborhood two months ago.

When the hall first opened Bucky had tried to get Steve to come along.

“They won’t turn you down, Steve,” Bucky had tried. “Not even the tall ones. Not as long as you’ve paid for their time. They wont even care if you step on their toes if you tip them with an extra ticket or two after.”

“I don’t know, Buck, Steve grimaced. “It seems like taking advantage. Girls desperate to make ends meet. Charging for their time? They wouldn’t want to dance with me if I weren’t paying. It doesn’t feel right.”

“You’re being a blockhead," Bucky volleyed, though there was no real bite to his tone-- only frustration. “These girls are making an honest living. A fella gets to have a nice night out with his buddies, gets a hand full of a swell dame and a few spins around the floor. Nobody’s misleading nobody.”

Steve could hear the implication in Bucky’s tone. Though they’d never really talked about it, Steve knew having to let girls down after a few dates bothered Bucky. As far as the neighborhood knew **,** Bucky was just a ladies’ man— one not interested in a steady. But Steve knew that Bucky would never make promises to a girl he’d wouldn’t follow through on. After all, they were out of high school now, and single young women were looking for husbands, not just dates out to the boardwalk.

Softer, Steve replied “You’re right Bucky. It’s just a night out. I get that. Trouble is my two left feet. You go on **,** though. Have fun.” After a beat he added “I’ll leave the door open for when you get home.”

Steve watched as Bucky’s cheeks flushed when he nodded and tried not to smiIe. “I won’t be too late.”

“I’m counting on it,”  Steve answered as Bucky headed out of their apartment.

They’d said so much even without using the words Steve wanted to use. An establishment of a ritual, an arrangement.

The apartment Steve and Bucky share only has one bedroom.  When Bucky moved in Steve scraped together the cash for a new rollaway cot and linens from the medical surplus store. They keep it open and made in the living area where Steve’s mother had slept. To a visitor’s eye Bucky clearly occupies the front of the apartment while Steve has the bedroom in back. And on occasion that’s how it is. Steve hasn’t been ill since he and Bucky have become roommates but melancholy or just simple fatigue force Steve to close his bedroom door sometimes and get the rest he needs. He is still in mourning after all. But Steve and Bucky are also more than roommates. Even if this arrangement of theirs is unnamed. What Steve knows for sure is that Bucky responds best to subtle invitations.  So tonight, after Steve gets out of the tub, dries off and gets under the covers, he takes care to leave the bedroom door open.

Steve is barely drifting off when he hears Bucky come through the front door in a clatter. When Bucky’s had a few he could wake the dead, especially when he’s trying to be quiet. The clunk of shoes dropping to the floor, a sound that Steve’s pretty sure is the coat rack falling to the ground, and heavy footsteps are accompanied by the aroma of beer, perfume, cigarettes and an evening of sweating on the dance floor. For Steve, it’s an intoxicating scent.

Bucky’s already naked when he crawls into bed, “You didn’t start without me, did you?”

Steve nuzzles Bucky’s shoulder, “Just warmed up a little. Didn’t want you to have to do all the work.”

Bucky snorts, Then silently rolls on top of Steve and starts kissing that favorite place of his just behind Steve’s ear.

Steve is doing his best to hold back a wanton moan when he hears Bucky whisper, “D’ya want my hand or my mouth, Doll?”

 _This is my chance,_ Steve thinks when he hears the endearment. Bucky’s not quite drunk but his evening out has put him in an easy, pliable mood. Usually, when they’re in bed together Bucky exhibits a heaviness that Steve hopes isn’t the same shame guilt and shame he showed when Bucky first admitted he wanted men this way. But tonight, Bucky seems relaxed and open. Maybe he’s open to what Steve has been wanting for a while. Steve brushes Bucky’s hair away from his eyes and leans back into the pillow so they can see each other when he says, “Well, if you’re asking, Buck, I’d rather have a finger or two…um… in back.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow and he lifts himself up. He looks like he’s about to answer so Steve quickly tries to head a protest off at the pass. “And before you say anything, just because that’s something I want doesn’t mean I’m not a man.”

“I know you’re a man, Steve. That’s kind of the whole point of all this,” Bucky answers. His tone is unreadable.

“If you don’t wanna—" Steve offers.

“It’s not that, it’s just—” Bucky sits back on his heels. He looks as vulnerable as he is naked when he says, “I’ve never done that before, with anyone. And I’d sooner die than hurt you.”

In a rush Steve assures, “You won’t hurt me, I know what I like. I’ve been practicing.” He’s suddenly embarrassed at having revealed more than he intended. The Catholic words _self abuse_ float through his brain. They disappear though when he sees Bucky’s face, all lust.

Bucky’s voice is low and hungry when says, “Will you show me?”

It’s the first time he’s ever asked Steve for anything in bed. The magnitude of what’s happening in this moment almost knocks Steve off kilter. In a forced bravado that he hopes hides his nerves he replies, “You wanna watch, do ya?”

Bucky just nods. So, Steve takes a breath and rolls to his side and reaches for the nightstand drawer. He rummages through and produces a small canister.

“So that’s where my Brylcreme went to!” Bucky exclaims with barked a laugh. Steve is grateful that the tension between them seems to have broken. After Steve slicks a finger, he takes a breath and smiles at Bucky before settling on his side. He pulls his knee up to his chest and then reaches behind himself.

He hadn’t realized he’d rolled into the pillow until Bucky says, “Don’t look away, please? I want to see all of you when you do it.”

It hurts. Not what Steve is doing to himself, but the effort it’s taking to not say what he’s feeling for Bucky, right now. It’s a risk he can’t take. He already has more from Bucky than he’ll ever deserve. It’s just a word after all. Steve won’t even let himself think it. So he settles back, focusing on the happily bemused look on Bucky’s face and works a finger inside.

After a couple minutes Bucky asks, “Can you come from doing that?” It’s the most explicitly sexual thing Bucky has ever said to Steve.

Steve shrugs a little, “I tend to lose patience and just finish the old-fashioned way.” His pleasure is mounting more so from Bucky’s fascination than from what he’s doing to himself. With his free hand he reaches for the Brylcreme and offers it to Bucky. A silent plea.

Bucky takes the canister and dips a finger in. Steve starts to roll over but stops when Bucky says, “I gotta be able to look at you. Can you lie on your back? Maybe put your ankles—?” he glances at his own shoulders to finish the request.

It hits Steve in that moment, what they’re doing. _This is sex._ He doesn’t know why it feels like such a bigger deal than what they’ve done so far, but it does. He’s nearly pushed over the edge before they start when Bucky almost casually states, “We’ll need something that keeps its slick longer when you’re ready for more.”

As Bucky slides a finger in, Steve cries out and grabs the base of his cock.

Bucky goes still, “You all right?”

Steve nods. In a rush he breathlessly assures, “It’s just so much better when you do it, also the angle I think.”

“You’re a sight.” Bucky answers. His voice sounds light and adoring in its tone.

At that comment Steve just moans.

For a few minutes the room is quiet except for Steve’s hitched breath and muted whimpers. When he notices how dark Bucky’s eyes have gone Steve asks, “Could I...could I watch you too?”

It takes a second for Bucky to register what Steve’s said. But then without losing contact with Steve Bucky sits up on his knees and starts jerking himself with his free hand.

Soon, it’s over for both of them and Bucky collapses on the bed next to Steve in a dramatic flourish. 

In a laugh Steve asks with mock concern, “That wasn’t too much for you was it?”

Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek and then with a smirk he replies, “Oh, no. I can do this all day.”

 

 


	8. CH 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve has some explaining to do...
> 
>  
> 
> _“Son,” Dr. Westmore begins quietly._
> 
>  
> 
> _Not good, Steve thinks to himself._
> 
>  
> 
> _“It’s not the injuries from this most recent altercation of yours that concern me. There’s some older bruising that I need to discuss with you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lindbergh paraphasing and the mention of the ads are pulled from an actual issue of the Brooklyn Eagle newspaper from Jan 12, 1940

January, 1940 - Brooklyn, New York

Steve drifts in and out of consciousness as he rides on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. Another alley. Another beating. He knows he had it coming. For most folks Lindbergh is still a national hero. He remembers as well as anyone when back in twenty-seven the City threw Lindbergh a ticker-tape parade to celebrate the pilot’s historic solo flight from New York to Paris. The man has been a public figure for most of Steve’s life. Both Lindbergh’s triumphs in aviation and the tragedy of his young son’s kidnapping and presumed murder. But now, Lindbergh has been using his celebrity to speak out against the War in Europe. It’s not pacifism the man is preaching. It’s isolationism and anti-Semitism. His “America First” political stance has taken hold throughout most of the country despite daily front page stories of Hitler’s continued advances and the hits the British have taken on both land and at sea.

Steve should have just kept on walking home from his job with the art department at the Brooklyn Eagle. But as soon as he overheard what the two men having a smoke on the corner were discussing, Steve had to stop and set them straight.

They were both slabs of beef on legs— barrel chested with arms practically bigger around than Steve’s waist. One said to the other, “It’s just like Lindbergh said, the Jews own all our newspapers and the radio so how in the hell do we really know what’s going on over there?”

“That’s right,” the other man agreed. “You know they’ll print any story that’ll make them a buck. They’re who we should be worrying about, not the Germans.”

Steve stopped in his tracks as the heat of anger rose up from his gut. Disdain dripped over his words as Steve said, “Lindbergh is Hitler’s lap dog. And both you chumps are eating up his shit.”

The larger of the two men turned to face Steve and with a sick sense of glee he replied, “Wanna say that again, pipsqueak?”

Steve planted his feet and doubled down, “You and your pal there are shit-eating bigots.”

In a flash both men were on him— shoving him back in the narrow space between two brick buildings. Steve took a sock to the chin. He didn’t even have time to see stars before the other man was at him with a series of kidney punches. Steve managed a couple elbows to one man’s groin and a firm kick to the shin of the other. He was fighting dirty. All below the belt. Bullies didn’t deserve any better. Especially ones that could easily put Steve’s lights out given the chance. But Steve realized too late the poor judgment of taking on two at a time. One had him cornered and the other took Steve by the scruff of the neck, nearly lifting him off his feet. Both men started laughing as Steve struggled to break free.

One said to the other, “This little maggot is so jazzed about eating shit. What’d’ya say we give him a taste?”

“Yeah. Let’s serve him a mouthful of the daily special.”

Before Steve could realize what was happening he was on the ground with his face mashed in to a pile of dog excrement. He scrambled to try and break free but then the other man started kicking him in the lower back.

That was the last thing Steve remembers before the sirens of the ambulance wake him with a start.

 ***

Dr. Westmore, a retired physician and friend of Steve’s mother who still cares for a few of his regular chronic patients, is standing at his bedside in an all too familiar hospital ward. “Looks like you got yourself into quite a scrape this time around, Mr. Rogers.”

“Anything broken that won’t mend?” Steve asks as he surveys himself. He can feel what are likely cracked ribs. His lower back smarts something awful and there’s a linger of mild nausea. No casts on his limbs though. That’s a relief.

“You have another kidney contusion. Expect a little blood in your urine for the next day. But you know the drill. Take it easy. Bed rest for at least three days if you can. I’d prefer it if you were off your feet for a week.”

Steve nods absently and says, “I mostly work from home these days, except for when I have to turn something in to the boss.” He has two deadlines coming up this week. Art for the new Brillo ad and one for the Chrysler dealership on Flatbush Avenue. Big accounts. He can’t afford to mess up. Graphic design is mostly freelance. Work comes his way piecemeal, at best. It’s not like he has a regular position at an agency on Madison in Manhattan.

When Dr. Westmore doesn’t respond Steve asks, “Anything else, Doc?” He has enough experience with doctors to know when they’re gearing up to deliver a hard diagnosis. Steve gets an immediate knot in his stomach when Dr. Westmore draws the privacy curtains closed and sits down in the chair next to the bed.

“Son,” Dr. Westmore begins quietly.

 _Not good_ , Steve thinks to himself.

“It’s not the injuries from this most recent altercation of yours that concern me. There’s some older bruising that I need to discuss with you.”

Steve hasn’t gone fisticuffs with anyone in months. Puzzled, Steve says, “I don’t follow.”

“You said you work from home?” A leading question.

“That’s right.” Steve nods. “Junior graphic artist for the Brooklyn Eagle. It’s not steady work yet but I get by.”

“How?” The doctor asks, pointedly.

“What’s this got to do with my injuries?” Steve asks. There’s a worry in the doctor’s tone that Steve can’t peg especially with these questions about his job. In attempt at humor he hopes will just make Dr. Westmore come out with whatever is troubling him Steve says, “I’m not on the featherweight card at fight night if that’s what you’re asking?”

Dr. Westmore responds with an awkward chuckle. Then after a pause he says, “You have some bruises, about a week old I’d venture to guess, on your inner thighs. And a few on your waist, which leads me to believe someone had quite a grip on you.” In a rush of words, Dr. Westmore asks, “Did things get out of hand during a trade, Steve?”

Steve’s head spins as he tries to process both the suggestion that he’s been whoring himself out and the evidence of his and Bucky’s admittedly _enthusiastic_ endeavors from last weekend. It’s why he should always let Bucky stay in charge. He’s always careful to take it slow. But Steve’s engines were all revved up by the new Cary Grant picture _His Girl Friday._ That man just did something to him— dark hair, smoldering eyes, quick wit. Ever since that film Bucky took Steve to see at the Warner Theater— a day years ago that Steve would always think of as their first date.

The second Steve and Bucky walked through their apartment door last weekend Steve was on him. Pushing Bucky back on to the couch. Climbing into his lap. Hungry to have Bucky naked and inside him. Steve had never ridden Bucky that way before. To say Bucky was taken off guard would have been an understatement. After Steve had managed to get enough clothes out of their way he paused for barely a second to retrieve the can of vegetable shortening, slick Bucky’s cock and then sink down on to him in one swift motion. He gripped the back of Bucky’s neck, their foreheads pressed together. Steve was burning for Bucky— needing him deeper, seating himself again and again on to Bucky’s thighs.

It was all Bucky could do to hold on. In startled delight he said, “What’s got in to you, Steve?”

Desperate, Steve replied, “I need you. I need all of you. I’m never letting go.”

Steve felt Bucky wrap his arms around him as he began fucking up in to Steve, meeting each thrust with equal force. After a messy kiss that was all tongue and teeth and lips Bucky panted, “I ain’t going anywhere, not ever.”

Steve is half hard again, thinking about that night. But right now he has Dr. Westmore to deal with. Never being one to lie Steve simply says, “Nobody hurt me, Doc. I promise. And I wasn’t taking money for it.”

“A friend?” Doctor asks just as simply with no judgment in his tone. “Someone special?”

“Yes.” Steve states resolutely. He is acutely aware that neither he nor the doctor are using pronouns at this particular moment. Steve’s heart is pounding, not from fear of being found out, but by the realization that this is the first time he’s ever been able to talk about how much Bucky means to him— even if he’s leaving out the details.

Dr. Westmore smiles as he stands up and pats Steve on the leg before saying, “Then in that case I’ll just say that you and your friend should put your extracurricular activities on hold until that kidney has time to heal.”

“Of course.” Steve nods, grateful for doctor’s bedside manner.

The doctor is about to pull open the privacy curtain to leave but he stops short and says, “It’s none of my business, but if you’ll indulge an old romantic, does your friend know how you feel?”

With a sad smile Steve replies, “I know how I feel. That’s enough for now.”


	9. CH 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve finds himself completely alone...
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve’s head hurts. The tips of his fingers are tingling. _How long does it take to freeze?_ he wonders. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks sooo much to my beta for helping work through this one plumeria47!

CH 9

92 seconds to impact – North Atlantic Ocean

 _I can’t do this anymore_ Steve thinks to himself when he hears Peggy’s pleading words. As he looks out at the horizon and resolves that, for him, the mission is over. Project Rebirth was started to even the odds against Hydra tech. Now that Schmidt is dead, there’s nothing the Allies can’t achieve on their own.  

This war has changed him. Losing Bucky has turned Steve into someone he doesn’t recognize. He is a man who wants to kill. He wants to kill anyone who has had the slightest hand in Bucky’s death. Steve isn’t at war anymore. Ever since Bucky fell he’s been on a mission of revenge. That’s not what Captain America— a symbol to the nation— can or should ever become.

“Peggy, this is my choice,” he tries to explain. When she doesn’t answer he takes out the compass with Peggy’s newspaper photo in it— it’s the promise from Bucky. The promise Bucky kept until his last breath _She’s your true north, But don’t worry Steve, I’ve always got your six._

Steve has never been afraid of dying. What terrifies him though, is dying alone. _Maybe it’ll be quick? Like in the burst of_ _a hand-grenade?_ But that thought only reminds Steve of Peggy’s adoring expression. She saw him for the man he is long before the muscles, the height and the shield came. He could love her. He really could. She’s not perfect, but she’s good. He’d be lucky to have her. The only problem is he gave his heart away when he was nine years old. His heart belongs to a ghost.

He re-positions the throttle for descent and he tries to stave off the panic.  

Peggy plays along. “A week from next Saturday at the Stork Club.”

They make plans. Steve worries about stepping on her feet. An old anxiety from a lifetime ago is what’s on his mind when everything goes black.

***

28 Minutes after impact

Steve’s head hurts. The tips of his fingers are tingling. _How long does it take to freeze?_ he wonders. Then he remembers the serum– cells that heal and regenerate. His arms and legs are stiff from the cold but they’re not broken. He climbs out of the cockpit and surveys the airship. It’s a marvel of technology. It doesn’t take someone with Howard Stark’s smarts to recognize that. Schmidt’s gone but the bodies of Hydra bombardiers litter the fuselage. No survivors. Even the ones that Steve had only managed to knock unconscious are dead. Steve reaches for his sidearm— the chamber is empty and he’s out of rounds. He can’t bring himself to even entertain the idea of using one of the Hydra weapons to speed this along.

The main cabin isn’t taking on water, not yet at least.

It’s going to be a long night.

He thinks of his father and the kind Army Chaplin who sat with him as he suffered the fatal injuries caused by mustard gas. Steve remembers the description of what mustard gas does. _It’s like drowning in slow motion._ It’s the one time that he wishes his shield had some real weight to it. Even his suit is buoyant and weather resistant. Diving off the ice floe he’s landed on likely won’t help.

He sits and waits.

***

3 Hours 18 minutes after impact

Steve is hungry. Is it possible he could die from starvation before he dies of exposure? He doesn’t know enough about the science of this laboratory experiment of a body he has. He knows his metabolism both keeps him warm and makes him need a minimum of eight thousand calories a day. He laughs at the memory how Morita used to complain about having to carry Steve’s K-rations when they were out on a sortie. Steve owes so much to the Howlies. He hopes they will get the recognition they deserve. Commendations. Promotions. Perhaps even stateside assignments before their luck runs out in the European Theater. He’s grateful for having known them and he’s takes a moment to silently recognize those men as family. Because in the end, that’s what they are.

He hopes they will remember him well.

***

5 hours 9 minutes after impact

Steve has second thoughts. Whenever you get knocked down, you get back up. It’s what his mother taught him. It’s what she always did. He can’t disappoint her. Not when she sacrificed literally everything for him. Not when he couldn’t be there when she needed him most— barred from her bedside because she was too contagious for Steve’s own weak health to withstand. She was alone. He had to watch her die through a window in the hospital ward. He couldn’t even say goodbye.

The map had indicated that he’s inexplicably just northeast of Greenland? The bearings make no sense when coming from The Alps to New York but perhaps Schmidt’s plan was to avoid Naval blockades and air support in the Atlantic by coming down through Newfoundland to attack? He shakes off trying to make sense of his location. What about anything in this war has made sense?

He sets about searching the fuselage and the cargo hold for an escape vessel. Surely Schmidt had contingencies. The attack was definitely not meant to be a suicide mission— not for Schmidt, himself, anyway.

He finds a what appears to be a sort of submarine— a craft similar to the one that Nazi scum who killed Erskine tried to escape in. Steve is relieved. He can get to Greenland or somewhere close maybe. No more of this hunger and cold. His fingers keep turning blue and then pink again. His body is fighting off frostbite.  The pain in his stomach is also sharp. Worse than any gut punch he’s ever taken. But that could be nerves. He wishes he was numb.

Steve opens the hatch and climbs in the one-man sub. The controls are in German but he manages to figure out how to engage the engine. It sputters for a second and then dies. Red lights flicker everywhere. He’s never been much of a mechanic but he’s gotten more than one vehicle running in a pinch. It only takes a second to find the problem. The right sideboard engine is missing. It looks to have been blasted into nothing by an errant laser from one of those goddamned Hydra weapons.

_Come on Rogers. You got this. Keep going._

Steve finds a dinghy but it, too, has taken a hit. No way it’ll be sea worthy. <i>Maybe I can patch it somehow?</i>  But just as Steve is trying to work out a feasible escape plan the airship lurches.  That’s when Steve hears it. A rush of water filling the lower levels of the fuselage.

***

6 hours and 16 minutes after impact

Steve is drifting in and out of consciousness. He wakes up shivering. If this is the end so be it. He just wants to rest. Hasn’t he earned that? He honestly can’t believe that he survived the crash in the first place. He’s not supposed to be alive. He’s not supposed to make it to thirty. Isn’t that what all the doctors said for his entire life? But this body of his can’t seem to shut down. If it wasn’t so cruel it’d be laughable. Maybe his body is just so used to all the times it’s managed to escape death it can’t do anything else but try to stay alive.  

But it’s not like all those other times. This time he’s alone. This time he has nothing.  

He knows exactly what Bucky would say, _"What kinda mess didya get yourself in now, ya Blockhead?"_    The words would come in a perfectly balanced blend of concern, irritation and adoration. A tone of voice that always grabbed Steve’s heart.  They’d trade barbs. Always trying to one up the other. Always ending in a hug. Sometimes ending in even more.

But that’s over now. Bucky’s not going to swoop in at the eleventh hour and rescue Steve. Bucky is gone. And Steve is going to die.

They’ve both run out of time.

As Steve’s breathing finally begins to slow and the shivering stops he wonders if this is how Bucky felt. Was he awake until he hit the mountain side? Did being able to scream help? In the end was it quick?

Did he know I love him?


	10. CH 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve holds his breath as Bucky undergoes the deprogramming procedure...
> 
>  
> 
> _“I just…I just want to be Bucky again.” It’s the last thing Steve hears Bucky say before Shuri begins reading the words._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and hugs to my beta plumeria47! I couldn't have done this without you!
> 
> This chapter is somewhat of a mirror of CH 10 from A Soul Submerged in Sleep but from Steve's POV. The fics in this series can be read in any order.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this last chapter!

CH 10

December 2016. The Royal Palace, Birnin Zana, Wakanda- The Capital City

Steve can’t sleep. It’s not that he actually needs much shut eye. He remembers Erskine telling him he could likely stay awake for up to thirteen days straight if need be in extreme circumstances. It’s one of the many side effects of the serum that has turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. At times like this Steve wishes the exhaustion he feels would just cause him to eventually pass out— that would at least give him a brief timeout from the doubt, worry and regret he seems to always be feeling these days.

In the last several months Steve has seen, first hand, all the wreckage the Avengers have left behind. He and his team have been trying to clean up messes and quietly set things right as best they can without tripping any alarms the intelligence community has set to try and capture the infamous Sokovia Fugitives. Sam has expressed his worry that being outside the law is taking too much of a toll on Steve.  _Take a look in the mirror, man. You’re running on empty._

It’s true. Steve does not know how much he has left to give. What has always kept him going, what has always enabled him to stand up, dust himself off, and keep fighting is the resolute knowledge that what he is doing is right— regardless of what the U.N., the State Department or even Tony has to say.  What weighs heavy on Steve, what keeps him up at night, is the realization that all his decisions and sacrifices might not have made any difference at all. Or if they have, they might have actually made things worse.  Zola, Hydra, the Tesseract— putting that damn plane in the ocean didn’t stop the damage they ended up doing. From Bucky’s torture and brainwashing, to Tony’s parents’ deaths, to the invasion of New York— all of it can be directly linked to business Steve unknowingly left unfinished.

 _Enough staring at the ceiling_ , Steve says to himself as he gets up out of the oversized bed in his guest suite at T’Challa’s palace. He stands up, reaches for his T-shirt and undershorts, dresses and pads out into the hallway. The corridors are dimly lit though he’s not certain where the light source is coming from. He remembers being received in a great-room this afternoon before being escorted to Shuri’s labs. The layout of the palace is difficult make sense of, even for a tactician like Steve. Though, he must admit, he doesn’t have much experience with Wakandan architectural design. It’s clear he has made a wrong turn when he accidentally finds himself in a large, formal-looking space. He’s about to turn around when he feels something sharp poking at the base of his spine.

“If you were not a personal guest of the king, I assure you I’d have run you through with my spear for daring to breach the entrance of his Highness’s throne room,” a strong, feminine voice warns. “Never again will anyone but a true Wakandan enter this sacred space.”

Steve raises his hands in surrender. He doesn’t dare turn around. Though very little about Wakanda is known to anyone, Steve has heard about the ferocity of the Dora Milaje, “Pardon me, ma’am. I seem to have gotten myself turned around is all. I didn’t mean to offend,” Steve offers in his most polite Captain America tone of voice.

The pressure against his back recedes and he slowly turns around, making sure to keep his hands in the air, “General Okoye?” .

The woman standing in front of him puts her spear at rest by her side, though her posture is still clearly on alert. “And you are Captain Rogers. The Westerner who has befriended my king. Why are you not in your quarters?”

Steve puts his arms down by his side and shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Sorry. I didn’t realize this hall was off limits.”

He begins to turn to leave but stops short when Okoye asks, “What keeps you awake? Are the accommodations not to your liking?”

“The suite is incredible. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“You worry about your friend,” Okoye responds. It’s not a question. “The Princess is confident. You should be too. I have never known her to fail.”

Steve reads a hint of softness in Okoye’s voice. An attribute she’s clearly practiced in concealing.

“Oh, I’m sure everything will turn out fine tomorrow, it’s just been a rough few months,” he offers, hoping he sounds convincing.

“It has been a trying time for us recently as well, Captain.”

Steve had been briefed on how the king’s reign had nearly come to an end before it had even begun. Steve was frankly shocked, and grateful beyond measure, that T’Challa had continued his commitment to open up his country to him and the outside world after he had been nearly overthrown. He nods in recognition. “I heard. Shuri says you’re a hero. You stopped the uprising.”

Okoye takes a deep breath, as if deciding what she’ll say in return. Finally, she answers, “I made a choice. It was the right one. But, like you, I still wander the halls at night when I should be in bed.”

“You put duty first.” Steve responds, having heard the story that Okoye’s own husband had led rebel forces in support of a pretender to the throne.

“And you put your friend first,” Okoye answers knowingly. “We may have both been right. But we both also have to live with the consequences of our actions.” 

Steve is still taking in Okoye’s words when she finishes, “Go try to rest. I will see you tomorrow at the procedure.”

“You’ll be there?”

“The king insists we provide security as a contingency.”

It makes sense. Shuri has been working around the clock on the protocol she designed to deprogram Bucky. Tomorrow is the final step to see if the trigger words truly have been removed from his psyche. If Shuri’s efforts haven’t worked and Bucky is activated all hell will break loose.

***

Steve returns to his suite to find his holocomm beeping. The tech looks almost archaic compared to everything he’s seen here, in Wakanda, though he’s glad that Nat has been able to establish a secure channel that can keep them all connected. He answers to find Sam smiling at him. “Hey there, Cap. Everything a go tomorrow?”

Steve nods, “That’s what they tell me.” He takes a deep breath and places his hands at his waist. A practiced stance he uses when he’s attempting to look calm and a self-assured.

“And how are you doing?” Sam asks as a line of concern forms above his brow.

Steve can’t think of anything to say that isn’t a lie.

“I take it you still haven’t been sleeping?” Sam continues.

“I slept for seventy years, Sam. Not like it did me much good.” It’s an attempt at humor. Steve knows Sam won’t buy it.

“Look, I know things aren’t ideal at the moment, but because of you Barnes has a real shot at getting his life back. Isn’t that what you want?”

A wall in Steve breaks. Desperately he asks, “But what if I’ve just made everything worse? What if all this time I’ve just been being selfish?”

“Steve, I need you to be straight with me right now. Can you do that?” Sam asks.

“Of course.” Steve knows that he owes Sam the truth.

“Would Bucky do the same for you?”

Steve nods. He clenches his jaw then answers, “He’d burn the whole world down if it meant saving me.” It is the truth. Steve knows that in his gut. How many times did Bucky run to get a doctor in the middle of the night? How many times did show up just in the nick of time when some bully was about to put Steve’s lights out for good? How many times did he come through with extra pocket money so Steve could use his own wages for school or art supplies? How many times did he pick off a piece of Hydra scum who’d been lurking in Steve’s blindspot? Whatever else has gone unsaid between them, Steve knows he would not have had the life he’s had, hell, he wouldn’t have lived at all had it not been for Bucky, time and time again.

“Then what right have you to do any less? That whole ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’ is a bunch of bullshit. I’ve always been more of a Star Wars man myself,” Sam offers with a smile.

Steve barks a quick laugh. “Thank you, Sam. I’m gonna go get some sleep.”

***

“I just…I just want to be Bucky again.” It’s the last thing Steve hears Bucky say before Shuri begins reading the words.

The room is completely still. Bucky is shackled to a stone wall. Okoye and her Dora Milaje are in a semi-circle formation with spears and blow darts at the ready.

Steve holds his breath.

“…homecoming, one, freight car.” Shuri completes the list and everyone waits.

For ten agonizing seconds nothing happens. Steve watches intently and tries to get a read on Bucky but he is standing stock-still in his restraints with his eyes shut tight. That’s when the screaming starts.

Bucky collapses against the wall and Steve is next to him in an instant holding him as best he can as Bucky cries out, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Steve! I’m so sorry!” Bucky words turn into uncontrollable sobs.

Steve rips the iron chains out of the wall and tears the shackles off of Bucky as easily as if they were made of paper. He cradles Bucky in his arms trying to soothe him. But Bucky’s evident misery is growing. Suddenly, Bucky slumps and goes silent. Steve sees the dart in Bucky’s neck.

In a flash Steve turns and has his hand on Okoye’s throat, ignoring the spears that are at his own back. “What the hell did you do,” Steve shouts.

Calmly, Okoye replies, “It’s only a sedative, Captain. I’ve been a warrior my entire life. I have never heard someone in such anguish. What I did was a mercy. No one should suffer like that, ever. Now kindly remove your grip before my soldiers sever your head from your body for daring to put your hands on me.”

Steve lets go and looks back to find Shuri and her technicians placing Bucky on a gurney. “I’ll make sure he comes to in a moment, Captain. I have a counter-agent for the darts in my lab.”

***

As Bucky lies unconscious, Steve lets his anger get the best of him. He demands Shuri explain what has happened. Just like Okoye, he’s never seen someone in such obvious pain before. And Steve has seen, and experienced, a great deal of pain. Shuri says something about how the procedure has worked and about how Bucky is shell-shocked. But the words aren’t really registering with Steve, despite the fact that he’s bickering with her. His whole body is still reacting to the sounds of Bucky’s cries. _I tried to fix things and all I’ve done is make everything worse again,_ Steve thinks.

He is letting that thought swallow him when he hears Bucky’s voice, easy and all charm as if nothing had happened just an hour ago, “Anybody know where a fella can wash up in this place? I think I’m really starting to stink up the joint.”

Relief. Steve honestly can’t remember the last time he’s had that feeling. He leaves Shuri to help Bucky up off the gurney. They’re both smiling at each other like stupid teenagers. Like the way they did when no one was looking during that summer on Aunt Ida’s farm. But when they reach Steve’s suite guilt creeps back in. He shouldn’t be thinking of Bucky in this way. They’re friends. Brothers. For Steve to even hope for anything more wouldn’t be right. Bucky’s still got a lot of healing to do.

They make it to the bathroom and Steve tries to get his mind in check. Though all he can think about is the times back in Brooklyn that they’d share a tub under the pretense of _saving hot water._

The room has what one of the royal attendants had called a bathing pool. It’s neck-deep, sunken in the floor with flower petals floating atop the water.

Bucky’s manner is still light. When Steve asks if he needs a hand getting out of his clothes, Bucky teasingly replies, “The one hand I still got is enough.”

Steve feigns irritation as he tries to push down the memory of the fight with Tony that left Bucky without his prosthetic. But all thoughts of that day immediately leave Steve when Bucky begins to undress.

Steve busies himself finding towels and soap— all while having his back turned to Bucky. _Give him his privacy. Things aren’t how they used to be between us anymore. That’s how Bucky wants it. He said so back in ’43._  

When Bucky is seated on a bench in the bath Steve tries to make conversation. “I think the water comes from a hot mountain spring. It’s always full like this.”

Bucky nods as he pats the water and then worries a flower petal between his thumb and forefinger. “Reminds me of that place Dum Dum found outside Maremma, Near Tuscany I think it was?”

It feels so good to hear Bucky talk about old times. It chips away at that horrifying memory of that day on the bridge when Steve first learned that while Bucky was alive, he had no memory of anyone, not even himself.  But Bucky is back now. Hopefully all of Bucky. Steve gives himself permission to sit down on the floor next to the tub. “Oh man that place was incredible! I didn’t even know natural springs existed before then.”

As if reveling in the memory Bucky replies, “God, it’d been weeks since any of us had had more than a splash of cold water on our faces or under our pits to get clean.”

Realizing the weight of his words a moment too late he says, “The Howlies acted like they’d died and gone to heaven.”

In a whisper Bucky asks, “Were they able to get on with things after? Makes lives for themselves? Have families?”

This is good news Steve can give Bucky. With a nod of affirmation he answers, “Every damn one of them.”

“The Howlies were good bunch of fellas,” Bucky states. Steve can hear the sadness in Bucky’s voice.

They sit quietly for a moment then Bucky wets his hair and hands the shampoo to Steve. Steve hesitates for as long as he can, soaping his hands before he starts massaging Bucky’s scalp. Touching Bucky this way is sending sparks through Steve. And again, he feels a pang of guilt. But Bucky starts in with their old sarcastic banter— a distracting tactic. Steve can tell. They’re making jokes. Ribbing each other. Even laughing real laughter when suddenly Bucky goes quiet. More than quiet. He’s almost catatonic. For almost a solid minute Bucky is like granite.

Steve tries to get his attention— pleading with him to come to. “Bucky? Bucky? Where’d you go? You still with me?”

Bucky shakes himself awake and washes his face before answering, “Yeah. I’m here. Just thinking.”

Carefully, Steve asks, “About what?”

“When we fought. When we fought on the helicarrier.”

This isn’t going to help. They have to move forward. All those things Bucky did wasn’t him. Not really, “Aw. Buck. We don’t have to—“ Steve begins to explain but Bucky cuts him off.

“No.” Steve watches as Bucky turns to face him. “We do have to talk about it. I need to.”

Steve silently urges him to continue. If Bucky needs this then so be it.

“You said I was your friend.”

Steve has trouble getting a read on Bucky’s tone of voice. Carefully and as reassuringly as possible he replies. “You were. You are.” Steve knows what the rules were and he knows that Bucky put an end to what was going on between them a lifetime ago. It never meant that they stopped being friends. Not ever.

“That’s just it though. We weren’t friends. We were something more, weren’t we?”

<i>Is this a test</i> Steve thinks to himself. He’s known since he was sixteen that Bucky doesn’t talk about this. And he knows what Bucky did say was that they needed to grow up and start being men. Steve takes a deep breath. “We didn’t have a name for it. But you said it was kid-stuff. That we had to grow out of it.”

Bucky’s expression changes. He looks resolute, determined even as he gets up out of the tub and sits, naked, next to Steve on the floor. He takes Steve’s hand in his. “I was unfair to you. And I took advantage—”

 _That’s not true at all,_ Steve thinks _I was the one who started all this._   “No you didn’t! I wanted to—"

“Christ Steve. Let me finish.” Bucky tries to explain why he’d always been silent. How he’d always left it up to Steve to start things up. “…that first time you kissed me? I could never have been that brave. Hell, it took being literally tortured for me to even admit it to myself how I feel.”

It’s almost too much. Steve has tried so hard to put away the feelings he has had for Bucky for as long as he can remember. So, so many times Steve had wanted to tell Bucky how he felt. But he always stopped short because he feared that Bucky wouldn’t be able to say the words back. But now, here they are. Risking everything Steve asks, “How do you feel?”

Steve leans into Bucky’s touch as he cradles Steve cheek in his hand. Bucky smiles and says, “I love you, you dumb jerk. Always have. Always will.”

Steve is overcome. He rests his forehead to Bucky’s and in a whisper he asks, “Who’s the brave one now?”

Never the one to allow things to be too serious for too long Bucky playfully responds, “That all you got to say?”

As always, Steve takes his cue. “I don’t know, Maybe I’ll make you wait eighty years to hear it.”

“Asshole.”

“Hey, that’s Captain Asshole, to you,”  Steve answers in mock command.

“Sir, yes sir.” Bucky laughs.

That sound. That sound of Bucky really truly laughing is more than Steve can take. He leans in and gives Bucky a gentle, perfect kiss. He takes hold of Bucky then, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. No more banter. No more jokes. Not right now. He looks into Bucky’s eyes and opens his heart—fully completely and for the first time ever. “I’ve been in love with you since I was just a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid in Brooklyn. Hell, if I’m being honest. I’ve loved you the best I could since that day we first met. I’ve wanted to say it so many times, Buck. You gotta know that. It was never just a game, for me. Not ever.”

Bucky kisses Steve again, “I gave you everything I could too. And I’m sorry for making you think it was just a game. I honestly didn’t know that we could have more than we did. I should have never made you feel like it was just us making time.” Desperately, Bucky continues, “You’ve always deserved to hear it, Steve. I am so sorry. I didn’t even know love was something I could feel. Not until I thought I’d lost you forever. You’re it, Steve. It’s always been you. Always. You’re all that matters.” Bucky starts sobbing again. Almost as badly as before.

Steve wraps Bucky in a towel, dries him as best he can and leads him to the bedroom, only stopping to press the assistance comm on the night stand.

***

Steve sits in T’Challa’s private office and listens as Dr. M’gaou explains the gravity of Bucky’s condition. “While Sgt. Barnes’ mind is free from the clutches of his captors, he must rebuild himself— mind, body and spirit. The Princess has brought me here to guide your friend through his recovery. And I assure you, Captain. I will teach your friend how to use the tools he needs to become his own man.”

Steve stands and shakes the doctor’s hand. Eagerly, he says, “Thank you, doctor. And whatever you need from me, I’m in. I’ve told my team I’m on leave until further notice. I’m here. One-hundred percent. I just want Bucky to get better.”

The doctor glances at the King who nods for him to continue. “That’s precisely why we have asked you here today, Captain. As I said, I am here to help Sgt. Barnes become his own man— his own man independent of you.”

Steve begins to protest but the doctor continues.

“I know the two of you care a great deal for each other. He’s spoken to me of how important you are to him.”

“He’s important to me too.” Steve has never spoken with anyone about the extent of his relationship with Bucky, not in any sort of specifics. He waits a beat, steels himself, then continues, “When we were young, before we joined the army, we were lovers. I love him still. And he loves me.” As if daring the doctor to say otherwise he asks, “Is that a problem?”

“That you love each other? No, not at all. And I hope the two of you can one day resume the level of intimacy you once shared.”

Sensing the doctor had more to say, Steve asked. “Then what?”

“I’ve only spent a few hours with Sgt Barnes, but from what I have been able to gather, his entire identity exists in relation to you. Even before his capture and torture, he had no sense of self-worth outside of his role as your friend.”

Steve can’t deny that what the doctor is saying makes sense. He remembers that day in his office after Bucky had broken things off. What Bucky had said then was more than Steve could process at the time. _Listen to me, Rogers. The only thing that makes me able to get out of bed and look myself in the mirror is knowing that I can protect you. That I can keep you safe. It’s the one thing about myself that I don’t hate. That’s why I’m doing this. I’ve been trying to keep you safe since the day I pulled you out of a goddamn garbage can when you were nine years old. It’s the one thing that makes me feel like I’m a man, not some… If protecting you means we can’t scratch that itch anymore then so be it._

Steve sits back down in the chair, deflated. Bucky’s words from so long ago were fully hitting him now. Ever the soldier, Steve awaits his orders. “Tell me what I need to do, doctor.”

***

Steve and Bucky stand by the lake in the small village outside of the Capital City where Bucky meets the doctor for his daily sessions.

They both listen to the water lapping against the shore and the distant chatter of children playing. Neither of them speaks for a while. Finally, Bucky breaks the silence. “If Natasha says they need you then you have to go.”

“I know.” Steve hates this. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky’s side ever again. They’ve lost so much time and they have a miracle of a second chance but they can’t spend it together.

“Don’t underestimate the Maximoff girl. She can hold her own. I saw what she can do at the airport. And Listen to Wilson when he tells you you’re being reckless.”

“Hey, I’m not—” but Steve stops short when Bucky gives him a pointed look. “Okay okay. I’ll stick to our plans, do things by the book.”

“The book for fugitive vigilantes?” Bucky teases.

“It’s a good read. A real page turner,” Steve volleys.

“I’ll have to dust off my library card,” Bucky suggests.

“You do that.” Steve laughs.

Again. They fall silent.

“You’ll come back?” Bucky asks, his eyes set on the water.

Steve looks out at the lake again too. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ll always come back, pal. Always. It’s what people in love do.”

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments = LOVE!


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